


Fragile and Precious

by Lunarium



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Abuse, Alien/Human Relationships, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Experimentation, F/M, Mind Games
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-12-17 12:23:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11851500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunarium/pseuds/Lunarium
Summary: Haggar will not stand to lose her greatest weapon ever again.





	Fragile and Precious

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OzQueen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OzQueen/gifts).



“Report.” 

The Galra on the screen wore a lopsided grin that stretched across his face pathetically so in his smugness. He stood as if proud of the news he was about to deliver. “Subject Y0XT39 has left base. Operation Kuron Stage Three is underway.” 

Haggar’s eyes narrowed at the report. “Where was Voltron last located?” 

“Whereabouts uncertain, ma’am, but we are confident the subject will be able to locate them. He has demonstrated optimal cognitive reasoning and the ability to strategize on the spot, just like the original.” 

“That is least of my concern,” she said. “How many casualties did you suffer?” 

“At least a dozen sentries. About twice as many combatants at the base. Uh — ” the Galra consulted through his notes briefly “— ranges are mostly minor to critical injuries. One dead.” 

“That’s enough,” Haggar said, disgusted. “Have them healed and back at their stations. We can’t risk the Empire growing weaker each day!” 

“Vrepit Sa!” the Galra affirmed as Haggar closed communications and steered away. 

It didn’t matter what happened next once the subject found the team. He had been the product of a year-long research, but what would come next did not interest her. She was more intent on returning to the “original”, a great weapon she would not let slip through her fingers again.

*

She had mere minutes to retrieve him. The battle had been grueling and long. A few of the Druids suffered under the hands of the enemy: a couple of rebel traitors to the Galra and the Altean Princess. As for Haggar, one wrong move was all it took. The hood of her robes had fallen back, exposing her true heritage to the Princess who had immediately recognized her as a fellow Altean. What was more troubling was seeing how powerful the damned younger woman was. Admitting defeat, Haggar had teleported away, having endued too many injuries herself. She would get back at the Princess at another time, somehow.

The opportunity came almost instant. Haggar had hid and watched the rest of the battle between Zarkon and Voltron, watched as her emperor, blinded with greed, locked himself in a stalemate of a battle until the Paladins got the upper hand.

But that was when she saw the moment, the single only moment, that she could claim back her greatest weapon. It had meant turning her back on her own emperor when he was most vulnerable, but she could not let this chance slip. There would be another means to retrieve him after foolishly running into battle against Voltron. 

She counted the minutes with bated breath, anticipating the blast, knowing what was coming. Zakon’s robot suit, grievously wounded by Voltron’s fiery sword, burst, the force of the explosion being great enough to split Voltron back into five lions. 

None moved. 

Now was her chance. Haggar turned to the Druids and ordered them to retrieve Zarkon at once. She did not join them. 

She teleported herself right into the cockpit of the Black Lion. Just as she had expected, the impact of the blast had knocked the pilots unconscious. And that’s what she was using to give herself precious time in retrieving her prized possession. 

She regarded the man, Shiro as he called himself, with mixed delight and rage. His robotic arm twitched as electric currants spurred through occasionally. Whatever had happened, he must have completely destroyed it during the battle. Fixing it shouldn’t take more than a day. 

Long fingers drew around his throat. Ending his life now would be quick and easy, a fitting death for whatever state she would later find Zarkon, but she held back. There was so much more she could do to him, and so much more Shiro could do for her. Though seeing him squirm as oxygen left him used to be one of her favorite pastimes, just to test the human specimen’s limits, she didn’t have time for this now. 

“Come,” she cooed in his ear as she collected his unconscious form into her arms. And in those few instances, the leader of Voltron was gone, whisked away right under their nose without any of them noticing, not when they had finally come to, not when they carried off the Black Lion back to the Castle. When they would come to search for their leader they would find the cockpit empty and they will never find Shiro again. Not until Haggar gave the word.

*

Once back in the Galra fleet, she kept Shiro away from all eyes, including her most trusty Druids. While her emperor fought for his life, she would make Shiro beg for his. And unravel his mind in ways he could never recover from.

She checked through his robotic arm. Once there was talk amongst herself and other scientists of what they could do with the Champion. She extracted memories stored inside the arm. She could only get so far until Zarkon had attempted to break the head of the Black Lion, but it would do. She passed the disk along to labs with a note attached: “Commence Operation Kuron.” 

Then sitting before Shiro, she waited.

*

By the time Shiro came to, she was ready. His pretty eyes fluttered against the dim lighting of the room. Then recognizing the environment, his pupils drew into tiny dots. Gasping he pulled against his binds wildly, calling out the names of his friends before his eyes fell on hers. He sharply sucked in his breath.

 _“You! Witch!”_

Smiling, she inched forward and cupped his chin in her hand. “Pet. How sweet of you to remember me.” 

“Where are my friends? _Get your filthy hands off me!_ ”

Haggar stepped back, eyes narrowing at him. “Poor way to greet the woman who made you who you are today, _Champion_.” 

Shiro froze momentarily, eyeing her warily. 

This was too good, she thought, and she grinned. She stroked his face, marveling at how soft human skin was, even compared to her own. 

“Have you forgotten?” she said. “Or are you trying to forget? You’ve become strong only because of me, my pet.” 

She leaned forward and cupped his face in her hands, stroking up to his temples. 

“Let me help you remember.” 

Shiro bucked under her, trying to throw her off, but already she cast off her spell, and as the first memory struck him, a terrible scream ripped from his sweet lips.

*

He was so young and precious. His nobility made him stupid, yet endearing. To take on the fight against one of her greatest champions in the arena, and win, earned her attention. She didn’t think much about the fact that Myzax, one of her greatest experiments at the time, had failed. The creature was merely a commission meant to skew results in the Gladiators. She had worked hard in his creation but his defeat was no great loss.

Her fascination rested with the new creature. The Galra guards told her the entire tale of how the “Champion” was bloodthirsty and nearly killed the other human he had been with, but she was clever and saw through the facade. What a fascinating specimen, she observed. Smaller, softer, from a planet she had never heard of before, and exceedingly handsome. His entire behavior revolved around that of chivalry and love, endangering himself for the survival of others, both in his species and others. He volunteered to take on the greatest fighter while knowing the risk of death. Whether that was a trait defined in all of his species or unique to just him remained to be seen. 

Either way, the man thrilled her. 

When the Champion was first handed to her, he was badly injured and trembling from what he had just lived through. So much for a bloodthirsty gladiator. She stripped him down, studied his body, her fingers roaming over the skin of his trembling abs. She collected blood and tissue sample to find the closest genetic match as to not accidentally poison him with incompatible medication. 

After sending off the rest of the Druids, she settled herself beside him and tended to his wounds. She spoke softly to him as she stroked his aching, broken, bloodied body; washed him, marveled at how his body felt under her, and felt the moment his shoulders shook under her as the tears began. 

“Yes, tears will bring you relief,” she cooed darkly. She gave the top of his head a kiss. 

What more, she marveled, could she do with this? 

Humans, she realized soon enough, were not much more than highly cognitive beasts. Nurse a wounded beast, give him salve and feed him broth, show him care, and he clung to her as though she were his only lifeline, stupidly unaware as the broth she gave him was working its magic inside him. 

The next time he found himself in the arena for an encore, for an audience enthused over the newcomer, he was all the stronger, if by a little. He still bled and bruised beautifully, and later wept and shook on her lap as she nursed his wounds again. But the medication in the broth worked, and she gave him another dose.

*

She had little interest in making him just another killing machine in the fighting arena. There was so much more to him. His potential lay in the service to Lord Zarkon, but the arena was a good place to test out the results of her experiments. Always the Champion would return to her a greater victor and a bigger mess. His hair was slowly turning white. Either humans had extremely short lifespans or it was result of trauma—and really, the thought that her precious killer couldn’t handle being drenched in his enemies blood after being thrown about and nearly crushed to death, was quite endearing. It earned him affectionate kisses, on the forehead, on the cheeks, on the mouth, all the while she sealed him up good before turning to the next set of experiments.

She could sense him struggling with the mixed way she treated him. He detested the experiments. Fought against her and the Druids, even. But, as she kept reminding him, she was his only ally here. She alone was interested in seeing him patched up. No one else would care if the Champion bled to death. 

He’d draw back whenever she swooped down for a kiss, but then he would beg, beg for affection if she left him to rot alone in a dark cell overnight. A guard informed her the human was crying out in his sleep although no immediate threat was present in the cell with him. She kept that record in mind. 

Humans were…interesting. He hated her but also _needed_ her, desperately, and she delighted in playing with his mind. She would have him suckle her breasts without free of retaliation, even as a tooth accidentally brushed over her sensitive flesh. She could command him to pleasure her after she discarded her robes, his tongue filling her with deep pleasure and envy with the vague wonder of how he had come to be so good at this for one so young. 

He was rewarded with strength and vitality in battle, all gifts which he detested and feared. Gifts that repulsed him. Gifts that kept him alive. Gifts which made him scream in terror, made him bleed, made his eyes roll to the back of his head and blackout for hours at a time, gifts which made him the Shiro everyone looked up to in admiration, Galra and Paladins and Alteans and Haggar alike…

*

“No,” Shiro hissed darkly as his eyes bore into hers. She took a few steps back, breaking contact with him. “If you think you can drag me back into that life, it won’t happen! I won’t let you!”

“Oh?” Haggar said, smiling darkly. 

“My friends will be searching for me! They will turn their eyes towards this fleet!”

“You don’t think your friends will abandon you the same way your companions from before had?” 

“Sam and Matt?” his eyes widened. 

Haggar continued to smile. In rare times when he almost broke away, she would remind the Champion of just how truly alone he was, that the men he fought to protect never turned around to seek him.

“No, no!” Shiro cried out, trying to keep his pitch firm, but she detected the crack in his voice. “This isn’t the same! Sam was taken to a worker’s camp long ago! Matt was sent away to be with him. They were never allowed near me, no, no…” 

But as the sweat trickled down his brow, Haggar’s smile turned into an awful grin. She knew she still had him. He stood there shaking his head, trying to rationalize with himself that the other Paladins will come, will not abandon him, could not ever give up on him…

Haggar shook her head, watching him with something akin to sympathy. 

“So much pain. Let me take care of that for you. You always used to like it when I healed you…”

*

The ground shook with the second blast. Report after report came on the overhead: Voltron infiltrated the fleet. A score of allies accompanied them. Dozens of Galra military fights and sentries passed through. Shiro remained in the hall alone, listening.

Somewhere echoing in a faraway hall was his name, cried out by a familiar face he had long ago dared not think he’d ever see again. 

And as Shiro listened to the reports, he doubted himself. They would not come for him. Haggar had told him long ago she had sent a copy of himself to entertain them. They would love him more. He was more complete. A better fighter. More stable in the head. Not as fragile. Not as human. 

He heard his name being called out. It wasn’t directed at the copy, the better him. It was…

“Hunk?” he dared to use the name. Was he still worthy of calling them friends? “Pidge? Keith? Lance? Coran? A—” 

“We have to find him!” bellowed out a voice in the halls, full of fire and pain. “I will not return to the Castle without Shiro!” 

Several voices rose up in agreement. Shiro’s own throat stuck in his throat. They were close, so close…

Where was the copy? What had happened to him or was this another one of Haggar’s tricks to keep him glued to her side? 

Shiro laughed dryly. He was backing away, backing away from his friends. Haggar had done a number on him— _Talk about keeping me by her side. She always told me I was fragile and precious._ But there, he told himself, those were unmistakably his friends searching for him. 

Even if his legs failed him, even as his robotic arm charged up, ready for battle (just in case, the back of his mind rationalized), he need only to answer their call.


End file.
